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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012757">would it be enough (if i could never give you peace)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetaserpentis/pseuds/thetaserpentis'>thetaserpentis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Discussing trauma, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Leo Fitz Feels, Leo Fitz-centric, Post-Canon, Team as Family, disgustingly sappy and cliche, nothing bad happens, they're so in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetaserpentis/pseuds/thetaserpentis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’ll be Christmas Day by the time we get to bed,” Fitz mutters. It’s an exaggeration. There’s still an hour or so left until midnight, but the more he thinks about it, the more he becomes convinced of Jemma’s ability to stand there for the hour. And the more he thinks about it, the less he is convinced of his ability to protest.</p><p>OR</p><p>It's their first Christmas back on Earth after the four years they spent in space, and Fitz wonders what kind of old things old places can bring back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>would it be enough (if i could never give you peace)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! So this was originally meant to be a Christmas fic (clearly) but I got caught up in a lot of things and did not finish it on time. I thought I'd at least try to finish it before January, so here we are. </p><p>The title is from peace by Taylor Swift, and the fic was inspired by the song! It's a hurt/comfort fic, but it's definitely 99% comfort. Fitzsimmons are ridiculously in love. This is the sappiest thing I've ever written. Nothing happens, lots of internal monologue. No beta reader again, so all mistakes are mine! </p><p>Also my first time writing from Fitz's POV, and I appreciate feedback.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fitz doesn’t even consider the fact that Alya has never seen snow before.</p><p>There are a lot of things he forgets that Alya has never seen before. Some things are easy to remember (apple trees, crowded grocery stores, cars on roads) and other things are harder to remember (suburban neighborhoods, train tracks, snow.) He has to remind himself often that his childhood is not a good reference for hers. It’s sort of a good thing, because that means Alya is growing up better than him, and he hopes that means she will be better than him. It’s also a bad thing, because he doesn’t always know how to get inside her head and understand what she wants, and sometimes he makes mistakes like leaving her by the cart at the grocery store, unaware of how awful that could make her feel.</p><p>He tries to take it one day at a time, and that usually works. One day he takes her to a restaurant and tries to handle the endless questions she has- her absolute bewilderment at the social concept of going out to eat. There are a lot of social concepts Alya doesn’t necessarily understand just yet, like waiting in line and movie theatres, but she’s a quick learner, and they have time. It takes her a lot of that time before she decides that she likes playing outside, because it takes her a lot of that time to decide that she doesn’t actually mind the feeling of grass between her toes. They take her to the beach, and she talks about the smell of it for days afterwards. They let her swim in the summer, and when they get back and her skin is toasty and her cheeks are flushed, they get to watch as she lies on her back and wonders about how she can still feel the waves.</p><p>The first time she sees snow, she wakes up screaming. Fitz nearly has a heart attack, and Jemma is already stumbling out of bed and running towards Alya’s room. It’s still dark outside and when they barge through the door, completely unsure of what to expect, she’s staring outside with one hand on the window and her breath fogging up the glass. They aren’t even sure how she woke up as early as she did, but she’s awake and she’s looking at the falling white flakes with the most curious smile. Jemma throws a puffy, bright, blue jacket over Alya’s shoulder and zips her up tight. She gives her a scarf and a hat and earmuffs and boots and mittens until Alya is barely perceivable underneath all the fabric, and Fitz supposes that’s exactly what Jemma wants.</p><p>They go outside with only the porch light to illuminate their lawn, and Alya digs at the snow until she finds the dead grass underneath. Fitz expects a lot of questions, but Alya is too busy trying to figure out the best way that snow is meant to be played with. Naturally, Fitz tried to teach her all the classics. He thinks waiting until sunup would be best for things like snowball fights and sledding, but in the meantime, he shows her how to build an igloo.</p><p>“Mack will love this one,” Jemma mutters from behind her cellphone, camera pointed at Fitz as Alya smashes snow into his hair.</p><p>Their family has expanded, and Fitz relishes in it. He had grown up with only his mum for company, and though Fitz relishes in the memories of quiet Christmas Eves, he can’t deny the jealousy he felt for all his peers with fathers and grandfathers. But Fitz knows not to make the same mistakes his father did. He knows the consequences. He also knows that the best people on the planet would lay their lives down for his daughter, and he’s never felt more grateful for this family he’s gained. They visit often- especially in the beginning. Coulson took her to the park, and May watched after her on tired, lazy afternoons. Mack taught her the importance of sharing, and Yoyo taught her when to choose herself. Fitz doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up in a family that big, but he’s glad that Alya does.</p><p>He sees the evidence of it underneath the Christmas tree. They had tried their best with presents for her in those four years, but Alya likely only remembered the most recent Christmas. The tree ended up being a green, fluffy piece of scaffolding, and it was hard to explain to her how exactly Santa Claus would get her presents to their spaceship.</p><p>Now though, Fitz can see the piles of sparkly presents underneath the tree. It’s a proper Christmas tree- the kind that looked like it might topple soon- the kind that smelled like pine and shed needles all over the floor. The presents are all wrapped a little too carefully- bright red ribbons and shiny silver wrapping paper with perfectly folded in corners. It looks straight out of a Christmas catalogue with the sheer number of them, and he should’ve known his friends wouldn’t pull any punches when it came to her presents. They started showing up on the doorstep slowly, day by day, until the number underneath the tree suddenly overflowed from reasonable to overwhelming.</p><p>“She’s going to grow up so spoiled,” Jemma mutters. She says that every time she sees the presents, and she says it now when she’s checking the living room is ready for Christmas morning. Her face is buried in Fitz’s shoulder, but he knows where her eyes are without having to think twice. She’s angled them perfectly so that she could gaze at the pile of gifts underneath the tree. They barely all fit underneath. There’s presents from Mack and Yoyo, Daisy, Sousa, Coulson, and May. Not to mention, Jemma and Fitz had gotten her gifts of their own along with an honorary present from Father Christmas himself. Fitz knows that as soon as their parents show up the next morning, they’ll have presents too. He has no doubt that their parents would bring more than one each- so eager to spoil their granddaughter now that they knew she existed.</p><p>“That’s a good thing,” Fitz says, “We can spoil her.” </p><p>“Yes,” Jemma agrees, even as she sounds exasperated. She pulls back with a smile, and Fitz thinks he’ll never get tired of it. A cynical part of Fitz (the one that grew up and watched his parents' marriage fall apart) assumed that there was a point where love got tired. He assumed there was a point where he would get used to all those little things that made him fall in love in the first place, and worst case scenario Fitz would grow irritated by those things. Best case scenario he would be indifferent. But he doesn’t think he could ever feel that way about Jemma. For the past fifteen years of his life, he’s only loved her more, and even without the constant trials and tribulations, he thinks his love still finds a way to grow deeper. After all the years of stress and tears- of seeing Jemma push away every emotion until she went on autopilot- Fitz is happy to see her smile.</p><p>“Daisy won’t tell me what she got, though.” Jemma’s eyes darted over to the largest box under the tree, and there’s a ridiculous amount of horror in her voice. “It’s massive, Fitz.”</p><p>“It’s probably a lifetime supply of alien drugs.” Jemma stares daggers at him. Even over the course of the past four years, Fitz never really stopped teasing her about the experience whenever the opportunity presented itself. The fact that she still refuses to tell him the whole story only makes him more eager to bring it up. </p><p>“You really can’t joke about that,” Jemma scolds.</p><p>“Daisy’s in space. What else could you get a four year old child-”</p><p>“<em>Fitz.</em>” </p><p>Jemma says his name in that way again- that way that meant he was pushing her buttons further than she’d like for them to be pushed. “Anyways,” Fitz draws out the word for perhaps a little too long, and Jemma rolls her eyes, but she hasn’t bitten his head off yet. “Daisy’s might be the biggest, but I get this feeling that Coulson’s is the most expensive.”</p><p>“Probably got her a flying car.”</p><p>“And Mack and Yoyo got her about five things each. What the hell?”</p><p>“May probably got her a knife.” Jemma whispers that part, and Fitz genuinely cannot tell from the look on his wife’s face if she’s serious or not. When he thinks about it, he can’t tell if he really believes it either. May <em>wouldn’t</em>, but the more he looks at the tightly wrapped, tiny package, the more he wonders what she could possibly get their daughter other than a knife.</p><p>He loves it though- all those little (and not so little) presents underneath the tree. He loves that his daughter is loved, and sometimes Fitz feels like that love he feels for her will consume him entirely. It’s been four years, but Fitz is still finding himself debilitatingly overwhelmed by how fully that love can fill him. It fills him until he can’t stand and that love is all he can feel, and he wonders if his mother loved him or loves him that much. He wonders how she could possibly function. But everyday he goes on (unconsumed) and everyday he holds her soft, unscarred, hands and looks into her big twinkly eyes. He hears her accent, a soft little blend of his and Jemma’s (and sometimes even Enoch), and everyday he understands his father less and less.</p><p>There’s a lot of things that happened in those four years that Fitz is grateful for. They needed that time- for Alya obviously, but also for themselves. Up in space where there was no direction, and time didn’t matter, and the first thing Fitz saw every morning was the people he loves most framed by the stars, was the farthest he ever felt from that other loveless version of himself.</p><p>But even then, there was always the promise of after. Even when they were taking their time, raising a family, there was always something to do and always something to return to. There was Earth and their team and the fate of humanity. But now Fitz is here, in “after,” and he loves it. He loves their cottage and the feeling of the sun on his back. He loves driving into town to let Alya choose pastries she’s never tried before, and he loves the whip of salty air at the beach. He’s getting used to it- peace and quiet and time- but he still feels like it’s not really quite real. He feels like any moment, it could all be swept out from underneath him.</p><p>That’s the thing about places, he thinks. Time in space on the Zephyr meant he had all the time in the world to sort himself out- all the millions of different versions of himself. He had time to come to terms with the things he’s done and the things some other version of him has done. He figured out what being himself meant. He feels the most in his own skin that he has his entire life, and he never worries about the type of man he will be to his daughter. But the thing about places is that an old place can bring back an old person, and coming back to Earth makes Fitz worry about what else will come back. It’s only been little things- little habits and mannerisms from when he’s joking with the team or when he’s driving on the road- but they hold promise of more, and Fitz can’t help being terrified of that “more” that seems to lurk in the corners of his mind.</p><p>He wants to be moved on, but Fitz knows better than anyone else that no one ever really moves on.</p><p>“Go somewhere?” Jemma asks. She’s holding his face, and the feeling of her palm against his cheek is familiar. He leans into it and relishes in the feeling of real. He still remembers other hands- hands he had thought he wanted at the time, but hands he had never truly chosen. The memory lingers in him and melds and mixes with the others, but he focuses on here and now and hands that are real instead of memory.</p><p>“I’m here,” he says. It’s one of Jemma’s favorite phrases from him. She’ll never admit that she has something like favorite phrases, but her face warms and glows in the same way it does when he says things like <em>I love you</em> and <em>You’re beautiful</em> and <em>That’s perfect</em>. After a lifetime of losing and losing, Fitz thinks it’s one of his favorite phrases too. He glances over her shoulder to catch the clock. “It’s getting late. We should get to bed.” </p><p>His hands land on her waist, ready to wrap her up and pull the both of them to bed, but Jemma stays resolutely still, and he pauses. She was up much earlier than him this morning, and Fitz thought she would be even more eager than him to get to bed. He had spent most of the day in town, buying groceries and running errands, while Jemma spent the day improving Alya’s socialization skills- still clingy from their separation. </p><p>(“I just want to make sure I’m present in her childhood.”  </p><p>“You were, Jemma. You <em>are.</em> For us, it was an instant.”)</p><p>“We should just stay here for a moment,” Jemma suggests.</p><p>“What <em>here?</em>” Fitz looks at the two of them. They’re wrapped up in each other, but their positioning reminds him more of awkward school dance than old married couple. “Just standing in the middle of the living room?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jemma whispers. She pushes her way into his space again, and Fitz wraps his arms around her torso like it’s an automatic response- like it’s his natural instinct. “We barely get some time alone.”</p><p>“It’ll be Christmas Day by the time we get to bed,” Fitz mutters. It’s an exaggeration. There’s still an hour or so left until midnight, but the more he thinks about it, the more he becomes convinced of Jemma’s ability to stand there for the hour. And the more he thinks about it, the less he is convinced of his ability to protest.</p><p>“You know, this is everything I’ve ever dreamt about.” Jemma sighs and whispers the words into his shoulder, and he can feel the way her voice makes his skin vibrate. It makes him feel like his whole body is humming. He knows that feeling; it always comes right before Fitz is set on fire and consumed in the blaze.</p><p>“Not necessarily Perthshire, but it’s close right?” It was a bit of a rushed process- finding the perfect home for them and for Alya- but Jemma’s always been meticulous about her plans for the future. She knows what she wants years in advance, and Fitz could never deny the appeal of a quiet cottage, so they found one soon enough.</p><p>“It’s <em>better</em>,” Jemma says. She pulls away from him then, seemingly satisfied with their brief moment of time spent together. She grabs one of Alya’s scattered toys they had missed on the first sweep and tries to find the bucket it belongs to. “It’s quieter out here anyways. And <em>you’re</em> here.” </p><p>“Really?” He knows they’re married, and they have a child, but he can’t keep the smugness out of his voice. </p><p>Of course Jemma notices it and thinks he’s ridiculous for it. She hums in that way she does when she’s giving in but doesn’t want to say it. “Sometimes you can’t imagine how perfect things can be. This doesn’t feel real, Fitz.” They don’t say it often, but Fitz knows what she means. He knows it’s one of those thoughts they share, and it runs laps around their heads, coming back every now and then to be thought about even when it isn’t shared. She finds the basket and chucks the puppet inside, and then she grabs Fitz’s face with her freezing cold hands. She waits until their eyes connect, and Fitz doesn’t understand how such cold hands could feed that fire in him. “You, husband, are even better than anything I could have dreamt of.” </p><p>In his mind, Fitz runs through the things he’d say on a normal day. Maybe he’d make some joke. <em>What? Milton wasn’t enough?</em> Maybe he’d return her compliments, and he’d kiss her hands and let her know that nothing could ever compare to her. But he’s not as in himself as he wants to be, and he doesn’t feel as simple as he did when they were camping in the middle of his wife’s favorite constellation. </p><p>Time is such an odd thing, and sitting on Earth (following lifetime traditions and getting ready for a holiday that Fitz isn’t sure he believes in) makes Fitz feel like he is running and cycling through all the versions of him he’s ever been. Even after all these years, Fitz cannot fathom how he managed to get Jemma Simmons, and he still wonders if he will ever be a version of him that is good enough to deserve Jemma Simmons.</p><p>“What’s the matter?” Jemma asks. She doesn’t miss a thing. Spending fifteen years never leaving each other’s side could do that to someone. When he doesn’t immediately respond, she drags him onto the floor, and he can’t understand why she would do such a thing when there’s a couch right behind them. Either way, he takes his place next to the coffee table without a protest. “Are you worried about Christmas? Alya? Our parents?” </p><p>It’s none of the above, and they both know that, but she’s giving him an out or a distraction. And maybe with anyone else on the planet he would take that way out and say something ridiculous about their parents’ bad habits, but they’ve tried avoidance before- Jemma and him- and it’s never worked. </p><p>They always tried to love each other in the only ways they knew how. In the past that meant Fitz would be reckless, always putting himself in the line of danger and taking the bullet, and for Jemma that meant wallowing in her guilt in far away places where Fitz couldn’t see her. Sometimes it meant that they kept themselves locked up and locked away because if they took care of themselves, that meant the other didn’t have to, and how could that be anything other than a selfless act? Love for them had always been trial and error, and they had more chances than anyone else to figure out how to do it best. And Fitz thinks that’s the part that matters the most- that they never gave up on each other- never gave up trying to find the best way to love each other.</p><p>So he doesn’t take that road that Jemma offers. He doesn’t run away from Jemma, because he’s spent too many lifetimes trying to find her to run away now. “It’s still weird being back,” he shrugs. Something flickers across Jemma’s face, and he wonders what parts have come back for her. </p><p>“Yes, surprisingly, my mum and dad were not happy to hear I had a husband and child after I disappeared for years, wanted by the law,” Jemma mutters, “Didn’t even get into the issue of my age.” Jemma for the most part is joking, but Fitz still remembers the difficult phone calls they both had to make. He’s learned how to catch Jemma’s guilt, and he supposes that’s what always threatens to come back for her. It sits and waits for the moment it can overflow and make a mess on their brand new carpet.</p><p>“I’m worried,” Fitz admits. Jemma doesn’t seem surprised, and Fitz supposes that was an obvious enough blanket statement that it wouldn’t warrant any further concern or intrigue. They share a list of very obvious things they both know, and somewhere on that list is the fact that Fitz is worried about something of some sort. “Being back, it makes me wonder if things will be the same- if other things could come back.”</p><p>Something shifts in the back of Jemma’s mind, and he sees the understanding come over her eyes like some sort of eclipse that he can’t look away from. “Things won’t be the same. They can’t,” Jemma says, “They’re different. Everything’s different.” Fitz knows this too, but it’s always nice to hear Jemma say it. It’s one of the things on the list of things they both know. Everything is different. The second they saw that blood test- the second they heard Alya cry for the first time- everything was different. The first time Fitz held Alya in his arms, he knew that she was everything to him- the focal point of his whole world. Fitz had gone through so many transformations (so many never-the-sames) but he knew then that being a father was the most irreversible change.</p><p>“We can’t go back,” Fitz agrees, “But that doesn’t mean that those things can’t come here. They have before.” They have before with some other man who lived some other life and did other awful things. Jemma’s spent so much time being careful with him, trying everything to make sure those things didn’t come back like they did for that other man. Fitz is worried he can’t do that for her. He sits on the edge of some cliff, and it seems easy not to fall, but it’s still there- always so real and tangible- especially when he knows he’s done it before. He wants to be good enough for Jemma. He wants to follow her, let her fix him, but he’s never been fixable.</p><p>“You’re right.” Jemma looks anxious herself, and it does very little to calm Fitz’s nerves. He thought she would say something more reassuring. Even if Fitz could never believe it himself, it would have been nice to have her vote of confidence, but Jemma’s always been more honest than Fitz expects. “You’re right. It might come back. It’s always been a possibility, Fitz. Not just now. Even when we were in space. I always knew-”</p><p>“This isn’t giving me very much confidence, Jem.” He tries to lighten the mood, but Jemma barrels right through his words. It’s one of those old things, but this time it’s not something that’s come back. It’s one of those things that’s always been there. When Jemma had something on her mind she was unrelenting, wouldn’t take a beat for anything.</p><p>Jemma settles the palm of her hand onto his knee, and a bit of her weight rests on it, and that’s another thing that’s always been there. Even when he thought she was gone, it was still there. “It’s always going to be a possibility, so we shouldn’t be afraid of it.” </p><p>“I don’t follow.” Fitz is just being stupid now, he thinks, arguing for the sake of arguing. He should just agree with his wife and go to bed and sleep off all his late night pre-celebration worries, but maybe a part of him wants to stay and find out if he can ever be himself instead of running from himself. “That doesn’t sound like a very good reason to not be afraid. Actually, the opposite.”</p><p>“Well, it’s a fact, Fitz.” Jemma says it like it’s on that list of things they both know, and if Fitz thinks hard enough about it, he guesses it would be except for the fact that the list is meant for obvious things, and suddenly Jemma seems to be talking in tongues. </p><p>“Yes, you and your facts,” Fitz mutters, disgruntled. Jemma had always said that about dead bodies. <em>Don’t be afraid of dead bodies, Fitz. It’s completely natural, always happens eventually.</em> Except now it was <em>Don’t be afraid of the evil that lives inside you, Fitz. It’s come back before, so of course it could come back later.</em> Normally his wife is the only one who could settle his mind, but tonight she seems to have her own convictions. Fitz thinks she should have been more sensible considering she was the one tortured by his fascist shadow four years ago.</p><p>“What’s the point of being afraid?” Jemma asks him, “Really? Do you think it will help you run from him? You think he won’t catch you if you run fast enough? How long can you run before you get tired out, Fitz?” </p><p>He isn’t expecting any of that from her, and he tries to think about what exactly she’s trying to tell him instead of the fact that she’s speaking in extended metaphors. Before he can offer some half-hearted attempt at a response, Jemma starts to speak again, “I tried to lock all my things up. I know it’s not the same, but you saw what happened. I thought if I locked everything away, I wouldn’t have to deal with it, but the music box was still a part of me. I still held onto those things- just tortured myself in the process until I couldn’t anymore.”</p><p>“Yes,” Fitz agrees immediately, because this is something he remembers well. It’s something he has a sliver of knowledge and understanding of, and it’s something he can offer some attempt at commentary on. “You were terrifying.” </p><p>“Sure, but I’m not running from her… or me. Not anymore,” Jemma says. She’s speaking quietly, careful not to wake their daughter upstairs. It’s completely a practical choice, but it makes Fitz feel all tender inside- like her words are meant to only be heard by him, and he guesses in a way they are. There’s no one else on any world that could share their words and their memories- their fears and their demons. “You shouldn’t be afraid either. I always knew he could come back, but if he does, we’ll have a plan. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”</p><p>She comes in closer to him, and Fitz wraps his arm around her shoulder. This version of himself knows how to do that, Fitz thinks. At the very least, Fitz knows that he is the best version of himself. “We’ll have a plan.” He says it aloud just to hear the way it sounds, and maybe saying it means that Fitz is starting to really believe it too. “We’re unstoppable.” Fitz doesn’t have to say that one aloud to believe it. He thought it every time Jemma was taken away from him, believed it every time he found her again, and everything that’s happened since then has only solidified his convictions. </p><p>Maybe they would always have their arms up, ready to fight whatever demons came crawling back to them. They’d have guns hidden in the smalls of their backs next to all their scars, and Fitz would spend years trying to find how exactly he fits in his skin and how exactly that skin fits in this cottage. But he would love his wife and his daughter with his entire being until it burned him all away. He won every battle in the past, and maybe the war would never end, but Fitz knew he’d never lose a battle with Jemma by his side, and maybe that was enough for her. </p><p>“Understand now?” Jemma asks. </p><p>She’s much too smug for someone who shares the same emotional issues (she was speaking from experience really) but Fitz is not always as stubborn as Jemma about admitting things. Not always. “Yes, of course. You were right.”</p><p>“Per usual.” Fitz scoffs then, but he can’t find it in himself to protest at the moment. Instead he plants a hand on the coffee table and pushes himself up with a groan. He stretches out his back and the ache in his knees, and he thinks after what feels like a lifetime of running, retirement makes him feel older than he really is. </p><p>He helps Jemma up, and it seems like they’re finished with their conversations that have become so rare since their days got filled with childcare and chores and domesticity. Her hand is in his, and it feels like her hand and no one else’s. Before Fitz can think better of it, he says, “Who would I be without you?” </p><p>Jemma pauses, and when their eyes catch, it’s like he’s looking into a reflection. Fitz still doesn’t always understand it- how Jemma’s love for him can be just as strong as the love he feels for her- but he doesn’t fight it. “Yourself,” she says, “You always have been. Still are.” And as much as he loves loving Jemma, there is something just as achingly fulfilling as being loved in return. He thinks Jemma sees him as a person- a flawed, lovable person attached to a real body- and Fitz thinks he can be that. At the very least, no matter what, he can be that. </p><p>His eyes catch on the clock behind her, and he says, “I was right about one thing.” </p><p>“And what would that be?” She looks at him a little bit skeptically, like she’s not quite sure if she wants to know, but of course she had to ask. Curiosity was always one of Jemma’s greatest weaknesses. </p><p>“Happy Christmas, Jemma.” It’s not the most exciting or riveting answer by far. Jemma huffs and crosses her arms and leaves him standing in the living room as she ascends the stairs. And once Fitz is done turning off all the lamps and the little Christmas lights twisted around their very real pine tree, he finds Jemma waiting for him at the top of the steps. </p><p>Tomorrow, they’d have to wake up early and deal with the mess of entertaining their parents and answering all the awful questions. They’d pose for millions of pictures with their daughter who didn’t have nearly enough childhood photos, and they’d have to clean up miles of wrapping paper. Tomorrow, Fitz would be too occupied with making sure Alya didn’t spill her hot chocolate, and he’d be too busy hearing the ridiculously loud sirens and songs on all the toys Alya got to think about their conversation or the evil that seems to lurk at every door of the house. But he would love Alya and he would love Jemma just as much as he does when he finally crawls into bed in the early hours of the morning. He’d love them for every single Christmas and Christmas Eve that comes afterwards. And he’d love them just as much in a week or a month or a year or maybe when Alya was all grown up and she didn’t need him anymore- he’d still love them just as much then. And if those things came back, he knew that his love would be enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it! :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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